A Necron Warrior's statis-crypts begin to hum once more. A Warrior who answered her Dynasty's call long ago for war. A warrior who awakens to a world familiar, but also different. Ara-Young's Necron emerald optics flickered to life as her systems reactivated, violet energy tracing across her necrodermis body. Rising from the obsidian charging slab, she performed a brief diagnostic before striding from her spartan chambers. Another cycle on Jinzhumao dawned.

Her chronometric senses told her it was the 2249th sun cycle since her last emergence. She cross-referenced Ku'Lai archives but felt the need to validate directly. Her classification algorithms required in-person observation to attune properly.

She processed disappointment that these primitives still breathed Tianzza's air. Accessing archives, she cross-referenced against previous surveys, hungry for evidence of cultural extinction. Reviewing the prior sun cycles in accelerated cognition, she noted the Ku'Lai civilization's persistent expansion, like verdant vines creeping further up the weathered walls of ancient ruins.

The city camera feeds showed only the cycle's mundane chaos. Ara-Young surveyed the sprawling Ku'Lai metropolis before her. Towering ziggurats and monolithic temples to the Dynastic gods loomed above mosaic plazas teeming with activity in the predawn orange light. She could discern the intricately patterned robes and headpieces signifying different Ku'Lai castes going about their affairs. Ara-Young would need to observe the insects directly to gather adequate sociocultural data.

Passing through the granite halls adorned with intricately woven holo-tapestries depicting Tianzza's legendary past, Ara-Young's destination was the Armory. There, robotic thralls presented her weathered cloak - a ghostly grey synthweave that could project camouflaging fields to match any backdrop, unfit for combat but enough for educational surveying. Donning the cloak triggered the field, rendering Ara-Young nearly invisible. To any casual Ku'Lai's gaze, she would be just another death shadow drifting through their capital city. Ara-Young ventured into the labyrinthine passageways permeating the ground below the capital like daemonic ant tunnels. To walk these shadowed routes was to tread the secret arteries of Tianzza's power, hidden from mortal eyes.

Ara-Young's destination was a particular sensor node requiring maintenance. Kneeling before the crystalline orb flaring with crimson engrams, she synchronized intent until the device attuned its recordings to her desire. A vivid torrent of images from across the centuries of her slumber flowed into Ara-Young's senses - wars, disasters, heresies, rebellions, and a thousand other stains on the meticulous order the Dynasty had cultivated over eras of careful guidance. Despite her fellow Necron's guiding hands or was it Aalim's wish to let them grow this way? Much taint needed cleansing.

This civilization was like a flowering vine creeping outward over time - still rooted in its foundation, but always searching for new handholds. Ara-Young's fruitful duty was to gently shape its upward course. Hardly the qualitative experience of her past life, but sufficiently thorough data collection to calibrate her ethnographic predictive cognitors. Like tireless gardeners tending a flowering oasis in the desert, Ara-Young and her fellow Celestial Ones had nurtured this Ku'Lai civilization from scattered nomadic tribes over many long epochs. It gratified her to see their living canvas thrive, despite being composed of such fleeting ephemeral brush strokes.

Descending through the silent halls, Ara-Young's thoughts turned to her previous flesh existence... But soon She was brought back to the present and remembered that she had taken a keen interest in the tribes soon after The Awakening, their society a palimpsest on which the Dynasty's legacy could be etched.

Exiting the passages into the bustling capital as dusk fell, Ara-Young weaved unseen through crowds leaving temples that towered like judgmental titans over the Ku'Lai mortals below. Their minds perceived her only as a chill in reality's fabric. She would observe, assess, and subtly correct. The Ku'Lai were but caretakers here at the Dynasty's sufferance. Their purpose was maintenance, not rulership. Wayward children require an extremely firm lesson to prosper. Ara-Young's eternal duty was to enforce providence's wise hand...

Weaving through jade markets nestled beneath towering pagodas of carved obsidian, around triumphal cybernetic arches and monoliths adorned with holographic emperor chronologies, Ara-Young scrutinized the mortals with senses beyond the flesh. Her optics parsed subtle gestures - a merchant's elaborate hand greeting derived from the Heian noble caste's exchange rituals in the Crystal Spires millennia ago. The lilting vowel sounds of Meiji Necrontyr's proverb originated in Tianzza's lost mountain villages. Markings on a child's robes linked cryptically to the Dynasty's primordial origin mythos. All carried whispers of a greater past.

At times, the rhythms aligned so closely with her deepest archives that Ara-Young could almost overlay Necrontyr citizens onto these scurrying facsimiles. But the illusion collapsed against imperfect realities - crude augmented limbs, inelegant comm-links, ignorant bartering. Crumbs of forgotten grandeur. Along duracrete walls, her sweeps detected faded maker's marks of past sculptors who walked when the Ku'Lai huddled in carved caves, and mud huts. Some signatures had eroded over cycles beyond measure, while others remained vivid from recent passage. Silent testimony to generations shaping Jinzhumao.

Of her nine hundred fifty-two million sleeping comrades, only two hundred twenty-five thousand currently stirred. But thousands upon thousands of Necron hands had refined the Ku'lai as per Phaeron Aalim's order over the millennia, and while the work crawled, it progressed. In time, Ku'Lai fibers would be permanently dyed in Tianzza's tapestry.

Weaving through the crowds, Ara-Young noted her fellow Necrons' impressive conditioning of the Ku'Lai over the epochs. Their ornate architecture and social structure so closely resembled the height of Tianzza's glory that she could momentarily imagine these bustling streets filled with true Necrontyr citizens wearing hanboks, kimonos, and even the odd cheongsams.

Yet the facade was rudely marred by disappointing imperfections - vile beggars crouched in alleyways, thieves darting through the markets, disgusted disease-ridden undesirables scattered in the shadows. Ara-Young flagged several swarms of scarab drones to begin discreetly processing the undesirable biomatter.

Such disorder would not be tolerated if the full Dynasty walked these streets rather than their Ku'Lai proxies. But gradual order was achievable, no matter how many times pruning was required. The foundations were strong, laid down over generations of Necron guidance. In time, Ku'Lai's habits could be permanently bent to true conformity. Ara-Young would help ensure it, as was her purpose.

For brief moments when the sunlight hit the polished temple walls just so, she could squint and imagine Tianzza reborn. But then the Ku'Lai's mortality, deficiencies, and disorder shattered the illusion. Vigilance against corruption was constant.

In the towering temples, intricate shrines depicted the Cryptic Ones in abstract, geometric forms. Ku'Lai monks prostrated themselves before these metal saviors, offering forth items of value with joyful tears. Ancient hymns of gratitude to forgotten Necrontyr heroes flowed from their lips. Leaving the outer temple, Ara-Young activated her shroud field and strode down the winding pilgrim's path. Her cloak manipulated light to avoid mortals' perception, allowing unimpeded access. Few Ku'Lai noticed the faint deadly shimmer passing them by.

At a menorah-shaped intersection, she took the middle passage, following her annotated internal map. A waiting cryptic seal allowed transit to the Noble Quarter, emerging near ornate homes fronted by sculpture gardens. Treading silently past guards and through side entrances, she accessed family shrines and private chambers undetected, optic feeds capturing each ancestral motif for analysis. So much lost meaning is now reduced to status symbols paraded by impermanent mortals. In lavish homes, the walls bore ancestral scenes of Celestial Ones descending from the stars, shepherding lost tribes into civilization. The noble family crests contained glyphs and diagrams from Tianzza's past, though their meaning was lost to time on the lowly Ku'Lai.

In data reliquaries, corrupted archives of the Dynasty's deeds survived - terrible battles against alien hordes, elite legions guarding the Ku'Lai people, cryptic technologies gifted to uplift these Ku'Lai mortals. Dangerous for them to remember too much, but useful.

Portaling further brought her to the Imperial Archive nexus, a soaring mega-structure containing data since before Ku'Lai learned writing from their Necron teachers. Slipping into dimmed alcoves, Ara-Young's digital tendrils interfaced directly with nearby consoles, siphoning copies of files pertaining to recent Jinzhumao for transfer, but noticed something odd in the data. "Well now this is interesting that an Imperium of Man merchant vessel is here, I wonder if that Ku'lai bloodline still exists?" Speaking softly to herself in a disgusted amused tone.

Throughout the capital, and within Ku'Lai hearts, endured remnants of the Dynasty's influence. Like fragments of Wisdom's shattered vessel, they survived to elevate the lesser minds. The roots spread deep into mortal loam, nurturing behaviors aligned with control, even as understanding of their origin vanished. But reverence remained.

Ara-Young was accessing recent security feeds when her sensors detected a familiar biosignature entering an upscale Ku'lai restaurant further ahead. She instantly changed course, striding directly into the establishment. The Ku'Lai patrons noticed only a chilling breeze as Ara-Young slipped between tables with cloaked speed. Halting by one booth, she addressed its sole occupant in a voice that resonated with cold command:

"Three generations and your bloodline's service remains intact. Ensure it continues."

K'van looked up, face draining of color. He immediately fell to his knees beside the table, head bowed with his dinner spilled.

"Noble One, I submitted my weekly report to the capital administrators just this morning..."

Ara-Young allowed her cloak's camouflage to fall, towering over the quivering Ku'lai. "This matter exceeds their limited scope, child of house Qinglong."

She noted his vital signs spiking with anxiety as nearby patrons silently, and quickly paid their bills if they could and others exited swiftly, careful not to draw the Celestial One's notice. In moments, the restaurant was empty, no patrons, no staff.

"I want your assurance that all off-world guests will be extended limited, but maximum hospitality." Ara-Young's tone was ice. "See that your people spare no effort alleviating their troubles."

K'van's forehead creased in confusion. "O Exalted One, we currently have no foreign visitors...except..." His eyes widened in realization.

Ara-Young remained silent, letting the fearful deductions bloom in K'van's mind like a plague. The unspoken threat carried more leverage than any words.

"Great Lord, I swear to you that the merchant ship's crew will receive utmost comfort during their stay!" K'van's face glistened with cold sweat. "I will personally ensure any needs are satisfied, as is my honored duty!"

Ara-Young's optics flared in satisfaction at the terror her mere presence inspired. "See that not even dust gathers upon their footsteps here. You have your instructions."

She turned and strode away, leaving the quivering man on his knees in the empty restaurant. K'van may not grasp the precise web, but the fly was ensnared nonetheless.

Ara-Young almost felt amused as the emotions played across the Ku'lai's expressive face - confusion, dawning realization, and finally terror as the trap closed around him. She noted the briefest flash of resentment in his eyes before fearful servitude overwhelmed it. A fine line separated this one from forfeiting his bloodline's service permanently.

As she departed, Ara-Young reflected that while distasteful, such deception was necessary to maintain order and control. The Ku'lai believed themselves masters of Jinzhumao, but in truth they were caretakers. Custodians whose highest purpose was keeping this Tomb World hidden and intact through any means. By reinforcing utter obedience in key bloodlines like that of Ku'lai, the Dynasty's aims were achieved. Generations who cared nothing for their Necron overlords, but would zealously serve to avoid divine wrath. A useful, if imperfect, tool of invisible influence. Having reinforced Ku'Lai's obedience, Ara-Young descended into the cryptic passages, consulting her internal energy reserves - 347 cycles remained before stasis recharge. Satisfied, she prepared to depart the capital.

The passage network lifted her thousands of miles south in an instant. As she re-emerged cloaked in the Megapolis, brief memory fragments surfaced - crying children, a mercy blade flashed - then faded. Damage memories from before biotransference.

Walking past a park, a more pleasant recollection flickered - she stood teaching young Necrontyr scholars. Lost sensations stirred of nurturing curious minds. The joy before her role changed. The memory fragment deepened as she surveyed the Megapolis unseen. She could almost see the shining academies of her teaching days superimposed over alien buildings now. Remnants surfaced of guiding gifted students, some of whom became leading crypteks, immortals, and lychguards. Children who called her shanji, an honorific for the master teacher. Moments spanning generations, before the Long Sleep.

Passing Ku'Lai families, phantoms swirled of her classroom - laughter, bonds of living flesh. Values she still tried to imprint subtly on chosen Ku'Lai. But shadows fell between recollections - the War demanded that all serve, but Phaeron Aalim bartered a great deal to ensure not all became Necrons...at first. However, not all her beloved students survived to biotransference.

Satisfied with her data gathering, Ara-Young descended back underground. There was much information to process and catalogue from both student memories restored, and progress observed. Returning from her latest mission among the Ku'Lai, Ara-Young delivered the accumulated data to the cryptic Archives. The attendant processing the new data bore no bonded ebony armband, marking one made Necron by volunteer. Ara-Young silently mourned their shattered soul.

Consulting her internal chronometry, she determined that 337 cycles remained before stasis. Why waste them idle when there was always more to refine in this sprawling mortal sea? Weaving between primitive structures, her systems echoed with ghost-fragments of her living past - nurturing children, bonding fragile flesh in service now lost to eons. Phantoms soon dispersed by logic directives. She paused, ruminating as a Ku'Lai caretaker tended to a damaged child. Their fumbling care evoked glitching memories of her creche long turned to ionized dust. Amusement turned to resolve.

Until Tianzza's rightful masters walked openly again, the gradually awakening volunteer ranks must guide their inheritors. Each Ku'Lai generation required tireless tending, pruning, and grafting onto wisdom's vine by subtle hands. Distant worlds beyond this system, lacking the Cryptic Ones' guidance, wallowed in violence and zealotry. Such would be Jinzhumao's fate without its eternal gardeners seeding rigid order.

Entertaining the idea of new Ku'Lai acolytes, Ara-Young dismissed it quickly - even the finest fruits here were sour and feeble. Yet a few more valuable seeds might be culled and preserved. Her data gathered this decade advanced Tianzza's projections infinitesimally. In time, the noble roots would displace the brush. As always, patience was key. Reapers would come later.

For this cycle, Ara-Young's hand curled in grim satisfaction. She would walk a while longer, imprinting wisdom on malleable vessels before the Long Sleep's siren call sounded again.